Teen Vampire
by mercury30
Summary: Things in the supernatural department had been quiet for awhile, and Lydia and Stiles are ready to have an amazing week together in Stiles' new loft. All of that changes when Lydia arrives at the apartment to find a man with red devilish eyes standing over Stiles' bloodied body. *Rated M in case things get steamy. (Post-series Stydia) (Vampire Stiles)
1. Chapter 1

**Hi, all! I have had many different accounts on this site, but I continually delete and remake them... so, I decided to post some of my old stories. Some I will be updating, some I may just leave alone. It's all up to the readers! Let me know in the reviews!**

**Enjoy!**

_**Obviously, **I do not own Teen Wolf**... that won't change throughout this story, so this is the only time I am putting this here.**_

* * *

It was dark and Lydia had just parked her car in the big parking garage across the street from Stiles' apartment when a sudden uneasy feeling washed over her. It was similar to when someone was going to die, but somehow, she knew it was different. She began walking faster, as fast as her tall designer boots would allow her. Her rolling suitcase trailed behind her, slowing her down further.

Finally at the door to his small apartment, she took a deep breath to calm herself. Everything was fine, it had to be, she was just being paranoid. She should be excited, not worried, she is about to spend a whole week with her boyfriend—alone, in his very own studio apartment. Lydia knocked on the door and it creaked open. That was never a good sign.

"Stiles?" her voice was wobbly, she had flashbacks to the night he disappeared at the school just a few months back. She slowly entered the apartment and was met with a gruesome sight. Stiles lay, bathed in red, on what was once a pearly white rug in the living room. Above him stood a dark figure, looming, as if waiting for something. She gasped. The figures head snapped in her direction. His red eyes met hers and she prepared to scream—though not out of anticipation of a death, but out of pure hatred, fear, and dread. The figure was over to her in less than a second, covering her mouth. His hands were damp with blood—Stiles' blood.

"Tsk, tsk, my dear," his voice was soothing, she felt her muscles relax at its sound. Even though everything in her told her that she should be fighting, she couldn't seem to get her body into action. Her eyes met a pair of chocolate brown ones, they looked terrified, and then suddenly, they looked empty before slowly drooping closed. Lydia whined through the stranger's hand, wanting nothing more than to go to Stiles, to save him. "Okay, love, I am going to let go of you, but you will not move, you will not make a sound, you will listen to me."

She nodded, in a trance.

His caramel voice continued, "I know of you, as I have been watching your beloved for some time now. I have to say, you are an interesting match. But, I understand why you are so transfixed by him. He is intelligent, quick-witted, and brave. He is… good. But, there is also an air of darkness to him. Which is why he is perfect..." the man trailed off. Lydia began to make out some of his features by now. He had dark hair, peppered with grey, but full. His jaw was sharp, angular, making his rounded lips all the more prominent. His lips… were covered in blood.

Lydia didn't quite understand what the man was getting at. She wondered if he was a werewolf, an alpha. Perhaps from one of the packs that so often threatened Scott's. For some reason, however, she did not think that was the case. He seemed animalistic, yes, but in a different way than the wolves. He seemed more controlled, concise, like each move he made was calculated.

"But I digress," the man steps toward Stiles and kneels down next to his lifeless form. A single tear trails down Lydia's cheek as the man gently exposes Stiles' neck, seemingly examining it. The skin there was bloodied and torn, as if he had been attacked by an expert predator. Lydia began to hyperventilate, unable to control the panic that was building inside her. Though she still could not seem to move a muscle, so there she stood helplessly, falling to pieces. The man stood once more and waltzed over to Lydia's side. He took her hand in his and directed her face toward him, he was just inches away. His glowing red eyes held hers. They weren't like Scott's alpha eyes. No, there was something different about them, something darker. Something that said, if you see me you are dead. She felt like she might vomit.

"He is going to wake up soon," the man said softly. He wiped away Lydia's tear with his bloody hands, effectively smearing Stiles' blood over her cheek. "And when he does, and this is very important, Lydia, he will need to feed. He will need blood."

She didn't understand what was happening, the need to scream, or run, vomit, _something_ was causing her to feel as if she might implode from the inside.

"More specifically." He trailed his fingers along her neck, exposed as she had chosen to wear her hair up that day. "_Your _blood."

Lydia's eyes widened, finally understanding just exactly what the man was.

"Can you do that for me, Lydia? Can you do that for _him_?"

"Yes," she heard herself choke out, though every part of her tried to fight against it.

He nodded, smiling. "Good, very good, Lydia. Now, I must go. But don't you worry, I will be back." With that, the man disappeared.

Lydia fell to her knees.

"Vampire," she whispered before sprinting to the bathroom and heaving into the toilet.


	2. Chapter 2

Lydia stared at herself in the mirror, blood streaking her face. Her eyes swollen and red, both from vomiting and crying. She ran water and splashed her face, attempting to get the dried blood off of her skin. Before she could make much progress she heard a gasp in the other room. Without another thought about her appearance she ran into the living room to find Stiles, alive.

She threw herself on top of him, and began to sob.

Shocked he pats her back and chuckles. "Hey, Lyds, missed you too."

Pulling back, she looks at him, specifically examining his neck. It was totally healed, though he was still covered in blood.

"Woah, Lydia, is that blood? What happened? Are you okay?" He scrambled, now examining her, as if she had been the one with a chunk of her neck torn out moments before.

She shook her head. "No, no, Stiles, this isn't mine. It's _yours_."

He looks confused. "What're you talking about, Lydia?" He scrunches his eyes and his hand goes to his head, as if he was suddenly hit by a horrible headache. There was a sort of beating sound in his head. Bumbum bumbum bumbum bumbum.

"There was a man," she whispered, "he… he attacked you."

"I don't…"

"He said you needed to… feed." Her eyes seemed to glass over then.

"Lyds?"

She tilted her head to the side, exposing her neck, which was lightly streaked with blood. His blood. And that's when the pounding in his head began to really make itself known. He realized then that it wasn't in his head, but coming from Lydia. He leaned in, unable to control himself. Lydia seemed to understand what he was feeling. She seemed to know how to fix it.

"Lydia," he said, unsure, "what are you…" before he could get the final word out he felt fangs slide out of his gums and within seconds he found himself sinking them into the strawberry blonde's neck.

Lydia winced in pain, but within seconds the feeling was replaced with an overwhelming sense of euphoria and pleasure. She repressed a moan as Stiles continued to drink from her. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, fingers in his messy blood-streaked hair.

As he drank from her it was almost as if he could feel every part of her, sense her every emotion. He could feel the pleasure she felt from the experience. He wasn't sure how long he had been drinking, how much blood he had taken. And for that moment, he didn't really care. All he cared about was the blood. He continued to drink, until Lydia's hands fell from his hair and her body went limp in his arms. In that second his fangs retracted, and he pulled himself away from her.

She lay before him, much like he had before her just a few moments before. Soaking in a puddle of blood. It was gruesome, Stiles thought he might throw up. He scrambled, he moved like lightning, only clumsily.

"Lydia?" He patted her cheek, his voice pleading, "Lyds, please, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, Lyds. Please." Blood ran down his cheeks, his very own form of tears. Her eyes fluttered and he sighed with a sense of relief.

"Stiles," she whispered. He took one of her tiny hands in his and pulled her into his arms. He carried her into his bedroom and set her bloodied form onto the newly washed white sheets. He had just bought them, even took the time to wash them with her favorite laundry detergent, and make the bed perfectly, specifically for her visit.

He lay next to her and she delicately touches his face, which was inches from her own. "What's going on, Lyds," he whispered, as if raising his voice any louder, he felt, it would cause the world around them to shatter—if it hadn't shattered already.

"I don't know," she admitted. Her eyes looked droopy, like she might pass out at any moment.

"Lydia," his voice was louder then, "you gotta try to stay awake, okay? I'm gonna call Melissa. She will know what to do." He grabbed a phone off the bed and dialed the number that he knew all too well.

She nodded and sat herself up against the wall, where the headboard should have been. She began watching Stiles closely as he paced the room, clutching her phone to his ear—he probably hadn't realized he had picked up hers. It rang all the way through to voicemail. In frustration Stiles' hand balled up into a fist around the device, effectively crushing it.

"Stiles!" Lydia yelped, jumping up from the bed. Her head spun. Swiftly, Stiles caught her as she fell, her body unable to support her movements.

"I'm okay, Lyds. It's fine," he sounded unsure, "it's fine. Everything is fine," he repeated, seemingly more for himself than for her.

"Stiles," she said softly, as he hugged her close to his chest.

"Yeah, Lyds?"

"That was my phone," she mumbled, "also… I think you're a vampire."

He sucked in a breath and hugged her a bit tighter.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles had returned Lydia to bed after helping her wash up and giving her a fresh set of clothes, he'd forced her to drink a large glass of water and eat a piece of toast—acting like the nurses that command you with juice and cookies after donating blood. Few words were exchanged aside from him declaring that her heartbeat sounded normal again and that she will be okay to go to sleep once she finished eating. He wasn't sure how he knew that. Lydia did not argue, though she wanted to, but as he told her in a very stern voice to go to sleep, she found herself unable to resist. He paced the room, his body feeling energized, electric. He knew he would not be able to make contact with Melissa until morning.

Pulling out his computer, he began with the simplest search he could think of "vampire". When all he found was information on bad teenage paranormal romance novels and a franchise that definitely made more money than it deserved, he tried another approach. He searched the archived files on his computer for a moment before finally finding what he was looking for. The Argent Bestiary. He scrolled through the document, passing horrific beasts like the Wendigo and the Kanima. Finally, he came to a page which read in calligraphic font "Vampyr." Sucking in a breath, he scanned the page. It was all in archaic latin. Lydia had never felt the need to translate it, as they had never encountered that particular beast. Stiles recalled telling Lydia that she should stop obsessing over translating the whole document, that they would never use it, that it was a waste of her energy. He mentally kicked himself for that moment.

Looking back at Lydia's sleeping form, he sighed and closed the laptop. He would have her translate it tomorrow, if she felt up to it. He couldn't believe he bit her. Drank her blood. _Enjoyed_ her blood. He could feel himself getting aroused just at the thought, without thinking he took a step closer to the bed. The way she lay, her neck was on full display. There were two tiny pin-prick marks there that were barely noticeable to the naked eye. He wanted nothing more than to taste her again. He took another step. It was really no surprise to him that she tasted so good, after all, everything about her was always perfect.

"Stiles," she mumbled in her sleep. The sound of her voice, like a soft bell ringing, broke him from his obsessive transe. Before he could let himself get further caught up in the idea of taking more of her blood—which deep down he knew would kill her—he swept himself hastily away to the bathroom.

Staring at himself in the mirror, he was unrecognizable. Blood streaked his face and neck, soaking his white t-shirt. His lips were bright red, stained with Lydia's blood. Also bright red, his eyes. He leaned in close to examine them, trying his best to keep his composure. Knowing that if he let himself go he might slip into a panic attack. Breathing in and out slowly, he stared into the mirror at his crimson irises. Shaking his head, he shut his eyes tight and looked again. Still red. He huffed out a breath again, in and out. As he stared himself down, he could have sworn the red color began to change back to his usual chocolate brown. But just as the brown began to seemingly sprout from his pupil, it was gone. Out of frustration, his fist met the mirror, shattering it. He examined his hand, he watched as his torn skin patched itself back together until all that was left was a bit of blood.

"No way…" he continued to examine his hand for a moment, both awestruck and terrified. He healed even faster than Scott ever had before.

In the mirror, between the spider web-like shattered lines, he could still see himself. No, not himself. He could see a monster. A monster that had hurt the love of his life. That had almost sucked her dry. Imagining what she would think if she saw him like this, in the light. After all, she had only seen him in the darkness of the living room. He would not let her see this monster. He stripped himself of his bloodied clothing and stood underneath the steaming hot water. After washing his shaggy hair, he began to wash his body, noting that his once lanky runner's body had somehow become toned and muscled. A symptom of vampirism, he guessed. This side effect, he could live with. The eyes, however, he wasn't sure he would ever get used to.

Once he stepped out of the shower he looked again at the shattered mirror. He looked more normal. He _felt _more normal. But he also felt strong, powerful. Which was something he hadn't felt before. He cleaned up the shattered mirror as best he could, and pulled on a pair of sweatpant. He silently stepped his way past the love of his life in his bloodied bed, looking like an angel had intruded onto the set of a horror film. He took up residence on the couch in the living room and turned on the television, selecting the movie Teen Wolf starring Michael J. Fox. It was something he always watched whenever he was feeling sad or confused or lonely, it reminded him of Scott. It reminded him of his pack, that he was not alone in the world.


	4. Chapter 4

He woke to the sound of his phone ringing in his ear. _Well_, he thought, _at least now I know that I can sleep still_. It was 6am and the sun was just starting to rise. He quickly answered the phone, his voice groggy, "hello?"

"Stiles?" Melissa McCall's voice rang through on the other end.

"Hi, Melissa, sorry I was asleep," he wondered if she had noticed just how early it was. She was always on nurse brain, never realizing that other people had more regular sleep schedules.

"I got a call from Lydia pretty late last night, I can't seem to reach her now. Have you heard from her? Is everything alright?" Her voice dripped in worry. Surely her motherly instincts were kicking in. He was surprised she wasn't kicking his door down, rather than this simple call.

"Yeah, uh, we were drunk, sorry," he said, his voice surprisingly convincing. He had never been a very good liar—maybe it was another vampire thing.

"I see," her tone was a mixture of humor and judgement, something only a mother could accomplish.

"Sorry about that," Stiles apologized sincerely. He wanted to tell her everything. He wanted to admit how scared he was, he wanted her to fix everything. But he knew he shouldn't, and she couldn't. Scott would be the first one he tells, he decided.

"Well, I gotta get to work, sweetheart," Melissa sounded regretful that she couldn't stay on the line longer with the boy who was like a second son to her.

"No problem, Melissa, I'll call you soon, okay?"

"Okay, have a good day."

"You too," he said softly before hanging up, his eyes drifting to the tiny frame of his favorite strawberry blonde standing in the doorway to his bedroom. She looked disheveled, parts of her still speckled in blood, which was now dried and crusted onto her pearly skin. Stiles stood and found himself in front of her in what must have been one hundredth of a second. He imagined that she must have seen nothing but a blur. She wobbled as he appeared in front of her, catching her off guard. His hands carefully gripped her shoulders, steadying her.

"Hi," he said quietly. He sounded distant, ashamed.

"Hi," she whispered.

"How are you?" They both said at the same time. Each greeting the other with a look that said '_How am I? Are you kidding?'_

Stiles stayed silent, waiting for Lydia's answer.

"Honestly?" she questioned. He nods, demonstrating that he would take whatever she threw at him. "Kinda sore, tired." She shrugged, as if it was no big deal that he had almost killed her the night before.

"You should eat something." He had yet to meet her eyes since approaching her. He sped to the kitchen and began preparing her favorite pancakes from the special organic pancake mix he had bought especially for her visit. He'd had such a specific plan for how their week together was supposed to go, and it so quickly exploded in his face. Lydia followed him and took a seat at the breakfast bar, watching him zip around the tiny kitchen.

"Could I get a glass of wa-" before she could finish the thought it was in front of her. "That's gonna take some getting used to…" she chuckled.

Stiles couldn't believe how okay she seemed to be with the whole situation. He supposed the supernatural was nothing new to either of them, but a vampire was a whole different ball game from anything they'd dealt with. Within minutes the pancakes were finished and he had placed them in front of her, along with a glass of orange juice.

"Thanks, this looks great," she said softly, as if trying not to set him off. She took a bite, it _was _great. Stiles had always been a good cook, but she wondered if the vampirism had somehow further enhanced that talent.

"Coffee," Stiles said anxiously.

"What?" She watched as he paced the kitchen, returning to a normal speed. He began opening cabinets and drawers, searching.

"You need coffee, I don't drink it, I don't have any, I'm gonna go get you some," Stiles was moving a mile a minute, both physically and mentally. Before he could rush away, Lydia somehow managed to grab hold of his arm. He stopped his anxious rant when he felt a warm and silky smooth hand take his arm gently. It was then that their eyes finally met. Her emerald green meeting his crimson red. The two colors complemented each other perfectly. She took his hands and pulled him closer to her, forcing him to sit at the stool next to her. Their eyes holding each other the entire time. She did not look scared, he observed. She didn't even look unnerved.

"I don't need coffee, Stiles," her voice was level, she was totally comfortable being so close to him. So close to the man who had almost killed her the night before. She didn't see it that way. Rather, she saw it that she sat close to the man she loves, the man that had taken care of her the night before.

Taking his face in her hands she leaned in slowly and pecked his lips. He savored the taste of her lips, which tasted even more delicious than her blood somehow. When he opened his eyes they were a familiar shade of chocolate brown, but only for a second, before they glowed once more a shade of crimson.

"We need to talk about what happened," Lydia admitted, breaking the silence that had so comfortably fallen over them.

Stiles nodded, "but first, finish your food. Also, you should probably get cleaned up." He tugged at her once pale yellow dress that was stained red. "The, uh, blood… it's a little distracting." He could smell it on her, especially now that he was focusing on it. It smelled… not delicious, but good. It smelled like a turkey sandwich, he decided, the kind he would have in his lunch everyday in middle school. Not literally, but it enacted the equivalent sensation. It smelled familiar, stale, boring. Nothing like the smell of Lydia's fresh, warm blood that he had sipped last night.

"Oh, yeah, of course, sorry." Lydia took another bite of her pancakes, which looked absolutely unappetizing to Stiles. He sat and watched as she took each bite. He mused over how adorable she looked, even when doing something as simple as eating. There was nothing more that he wanted than to kiss her. Well, there was one thing, and that was to take her, right then and there. On the kitchen counter. The thought surprised him, he would have blushed, but he wasn't sure if his body was even capable of doing such a thing. _So I guess vampire Stiles is extra horny_, he thought. Not that he didn't often think about sex with Lydia, but he usually wasn't so graphic about it in his head.

Lydia finished her food and stood, gathering her dishes and rinsing them before placing them in the dishwasher and turning back to Stiles. "So… you wanna help me get cleaned up? I'm still pretty weak. I don't know if I could stand for very long in the shower... Help me?" She suggested innocently, though her eyes told a seductive story. She surprised even herself with this, wondering if it was residual sex drive leftover from the pleasure she had felt when Stiles had drank from her. It had felt amazing, like her body was in flames. A not so tiny part of her mind hoped that he might do it again.

"I don't think that's such a good idea, Lyds." Stiles turned away from her, knowing that if she persisted he may not be able to refuse. Lydia nodded and tiptoed behind him. She lovingly placed a hand on his arm and pecked his cheek, then retreated back into the bedroom.

Lydia calmly collected herself, pulling off her bloodied, and surely ruined, clothes and throwing them in the hamper where she saw that Stiles had disposed of his own bloodied garments.

Stiles sat on the couch as he heard each and every rustle of fabric as Lydia removed her clothing in the other room. _Damn these new senses,_ he thought. He tried his best not to imagine her naked figure. His attention was then caught by the beam of light that filtered in through the window to the side of the couch, illuminating a few panels of honey colored wood on the floor. He wondered if that myth was true, the one about burning in the sun. He supposed there was only one way to find out.

Lydia stripped the bed while she was at it, and carried the laundry basket out into the living room where Stiles sat, staring at the floor. His eyes raised when he heard her petite footsteps. He sucked in a deep breath when he saw that she stood naked, with nothing but the huge laundry basket full of bloodied fabrics to cover her form.

"Mind if I throw in a load?" She smirked as she saw the shock on his face. His eyes appeared to glow an even deeper red, and in seconds he appeared in front of her.

"Lydia," he said through clenched teeth. As if it was taking all of his energy to restrain himself. "Go take a shower," his voice was silky, it chilled her spine, reminding her of the man from the night before. He took the laundry basket from her and was surprised when she disappeared back into the room without a question. Moments later he heard the shower running. He hadn't noticed that he walked directly through the beam of sunlight. No burning, no fire.

"Good to know."


	5. Chapter 5

It was time to call Scott. Stiles held his phone to his ear, his mind roamed to the night before when he had unintentionally destroyed Lydia's. He would have to buy her a new one.

He stayed on the line until it went to voicemail. He sighed, knowing that his friend was probably at work. Scott had just started working for Deaton as a Veterinary Technician, which he'd just finished his degree for a few weeks earlier. He'd told Stiles how he was more than psyched about since it meant actually getting to help the animals instead of just stocking supplies and working the front desk. Stiles had joked that now he could get a discount on his heartworm medication for himself and the rest of the werewolves.

"Hey, Scotty, I gotta talk to you… call me back." He hung up the phone and set it down carefully on the coffee table, as if he may destroy it if he wasn't careful. He had no idea what the true measures of his strength were now. Tapping his foot and looking around the room, Stiles began to feel antsy. On the carpet below his feet, just to the right of the couch, there was a large blood stain, where he'd woken up the night before. Where he'd come back to life the night before. Unable to contain his seemingly endless supply of energy, he hopped up and started moving furniture off of the rug in order to roll it up. He'd never liked it much anyways, and had only bought it because it was on sale. In fact, Lydia had told him numerous times just how much she hated the shaggy thing. As far as he was concerned, he was doing them both a favor. She wouldn't have to look at the rug, and he wouldn't have to look at the blood.

When he finished rolling it up and returning the furniture back to its rightful place, he propped the rug against the wall by the door to his apartment—he'd take it out later. For some reason he didn't feel like he had the courage to leave the apartment in his new form, not yet at least. He sat back on the couch, which luckily was unscathed from the previous night. His foot began tapping again. He had a feeling the antsiness was just going to be something he had to deal with now that he was a vampire. He was a vampire, he shuddered.

Lydia hummed the tune to some old song that she didn't know the name of, which Stiles took comfort in hearing, as it distracted him from his unease. While she rinsed her long hair, she tried to keep her eyes shut, as it seemed every time she looked down she saw blood staining the water red as it washed out of her locks. For some reason, while she should have been terrified, as her boyfriend had basically tried to eat her the night before—and not in the fun way—she felt oddly calm. In fact, she felt more drawn to Stiles than she ever had before. She thought back to looking deep into his reddened irises and feeling like she would do anything for him. Again, this should have scared her, but it just didn't.

When she finished washing, she turned the steaming water off and stepped out of the shower. She pulled on the fluffy bathrobe that she kept there at all times, and it smelled deliciously of Stiles' laundry detergent—he'd clearly washed it for her since he knew she'd be staying the week, she smiled at the thought. That's something she's always adored about him, he always made sure she was taken care of, comfortable. No man she'd ever been with had ever done such sweet things for her. Stiles had always been sweet, ever since the day they'd met in the third grade. But last night Stiles wasn't just sweet, he was something else. He was something that even she, someone who had literally read the entire Oxford Dictionary a multitude of times, could not find a name for. All she could think of was how it made her feel, the way he was. It made her feel… lustful.

She exited the bathroom and found Stiles sitting on the couch they'd picked out together when he first moved into his new apartment, he was tapping his foot and twiddling his thumbs. The carpet that she'd begged him not to buy was missing from under it. It didn't take her more than a fraction of a second to realize that Stiles probably didn't want to see the huge blood stain on it any longer. He didn't look up at her, but she knew that he could sense her presence—even without vampire powers, he always seemed to know when she'd walk into a room, and she him. They'd always been connected in some strange way like that.

She walked over to him and sat down gently next to him, still wearing only her robe. She didn't think much of it, as it was something that was almost a ritual of theirs at this point. The sun that once streamed in through the window had faded and she could hear rain beginning to fall outside. It was around 11am at this point. They had a whole day ahead of them, but Lydia felt as if she could go back to sleep right that minute. She was sure it had to do with the blood loss she'd endured the night before, not to mention the emotional stress.

"Did you talk to Scott?" Lydia asked, seeing Stiles' phone sitting on the coffee table in front of him. Stiles shook his head and continued to stare at the floor, though his fingers had stop fidgeting and his foot had stopped tapping. She understood his silence, but wished that he would open up to her. Afterall, she knew what it was like to suddenly become someone—some_thing_—different in a matter of one night. "I think the weather report said it's supposed to be rainy all day today, so why don't we just have a day in? We can watch movies and eat snacks—" She stopped and felt guilty, she'd noticed at breakfast the distasteful look he held on his face as he watched her eat. It occurred to her that he may be restricted to a blood-only diet from now on.

Lydia sighed and placed her hand gently on his cheek, trying to turn him to face her, he did so reluctantly, but had closed his eyes. Her thumb traced over the sweet little constellations of moles that freckled his cheeks. He breathed in softly and his jaw quickly stiffened in reaction. His hand took her wrist and carefully removed her hand from his cheek. Through his palm he was able to feel her pulse, the blood pumping through her veins.

She tried her best not to feel offended by his actions. "Will you look at me please," she whispered. He clenched his eyelids tighter still. "Please." There was an aching in her voice, even she wasn't quite sure where it came from. Some part of her—well, truly all of her—_needed_ to see his eyes.

He finally opened his eyes, his deep red meeting her calming green, they looked at each other for a long moment. Lydia's eyes stayed attached to his, he noticed she had almost a dazed expression on her face and wondered if it was some shred of fear slowly making its way to the surface. With this in mind, he broke the eye contact and her entire being seemed to visibly relax. When Stiles looked back at her again, his eyes were back to their chocolatey brown, and Lydia didn't seem to tense up in the way that she had.

"How do you feel? Do you feel… different?" She asks.

"No," he says in too sure of a voice.

"No?"

"Okay, so yes. I feel totally different," he admits. "Like I've already got anxiety problems and it feels like they've been amplified by a million. I can feel every move I make, hear every sound. I can hear every time you shift in your seat, the sound of the fabric of your robe against the fabric of the couch. I can literally hear everything my neighbors are saying right now, every movement they make. Someone just flipped a light switch two doors down." He seemed to be getting more and more overwhelmed with each thing he listed. He shut his eyes to concentrate. "I can hear your heartbeat." As he said it her heartbeat did speed up, and they both became extraordinarily aware of this fact. "I can hear blood in your veins." He winced and shook his head, trying to focus on anything else. "Why is this happening?" His hands went to his ears, as if that would help block out the noise.

Lydia placed her hands over his and spoke, knowing that he could still hear her. "Stiles, how much do you remember from last night? Do you remember the man? Did he say anything to you before...?" She shuttered, remembering what the man had said, that he'd be back. She then remembered how he'd told her not to move, how easily she'd listened, obeyed. How he'd told her to feed Stiles her blood, and didn't give it a second thought. Maybe it was the shock of the event, maybe her body totally relinquished control.

He shakes his head. "No, no, I don't remember anybody." He sighs in frustration and stands up from the couch, beginning to pace as he always does when he's trying to work things out in his mind. "I'd just finished fixing everything up, making sure everything looked nice. I knew you'd give me crap if it wasn't perfect." She smirked at him momentarily, but a serious expression just as quickly returned to her face. "And then I woke up with you… and..." his sentence tapered off, they both knew what came next.

"When I got here the door was open," Lydia said. "That man was here and you were on the ground, in a huge puddle of blood." She closed her eyes for a moment, the image flashed before her. "Your neck…" She shivered. "You were dead, I swear," her voice was a whisper.

"Why didn't you run, Lydia?" He asked, his voice deep and pained. "You should have run, you could have died."

"I couldn't," she whispered.

"You can't do that, Lyds," he said, "you at least should have run and called Scott, or Malia, or anyone. Called for backup."

"I think I was in shock," she explained. Though her voice didn't sound convincing. Being 'in shock' wasn't exactly something that came easily to her, nor anyone in their group, after all they'd seen. "And then before I knew it he was in front of me, and he told me I couldn't move, that I had to listen to what he said."

"What did he say…?"

"That he'd been watching you, watching _us_. He said you were perfect for what he had planned." She left out the part when the man said Stiles had a darkness in him. She didn't want to encourage that idea, something which Stiles had struggled with each day since the Nogitsune had taken hold of him and invaded his mind. "And then he said you'd wake up. And…"

"And?" Stiles insisted she continue, but she seemed to get that sort of glassy look in her eyes again, as had happened earlier that day. "Lydia?"

Her eyes snapped back to awareness. "And he said I had to feed you blood. _My_ blood."

Stiles shook his head. "And you just… listened to him?"

She breathed out, not sure how to respond. "I…"


End file.
